


jethro is an awful name for a cat

by eomerking



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: M/M, boy problems, monty laments his life, octavia is not good with the whole 'feelings' thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-05-01 01:16:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5186687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eomerking/pseuds/eomerking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The soundtrack if my life will just be distant sobbing,” Monty says mournfully, “and maybe someone falling down the stairs.”</p><p>or, Monty is in deep and Octavia is never letting Jasper tamper with the moonshine ever again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	jethro is an awful name for a cat

**Author's Note:**

> i apologise for title and everything in general

“The soundtrack if my life will just be distant sobbing,” Monty says mournfully, “and maybe someone falling down the stairs. Possibly the sound of balloons deflating.”

Octavia turns her head to look at him, raising her eyes from her phone to his slumped figure. They’re both sitting on his bed, supposedly watching a movie. But the moonshine had been broken out pretty quickly, and there’s only so much of Anna and Elsa Octavia can take before she starts to zone out. Monty’s hugging his pillow to his chest; chin on his knees and his back to the headboard.

“Where in the fuck did that come from?” Octavia demands, more than slightly confused, raising her eyebrows at her friend. Monty shrugs unhelpfully and reaches for his mug of moonshine on the windowsill.

“I’m going to end up old and alone, with no one but my twelve cats to keep me company.”

“You’re allergic to cats, Mon.”

“And yet they’re the only ones who will love me!” He wails, raising the mug to his lips and knocking back half the contents. Octavia stares down into her own cup, sloshing the moonshine around, frowning. It usually doesn’t hit them this hard for another hour, at least. She plucks Monty’s out of his hands and sniffs at it, recoiling instantly from the chemical smell of it. He doesn’t even protest its loss, staring over the room at Kristoff and the dancing trolls instead.

“What the fuck did you _put_ in this?”

“I dunno. Stuff. Me an’ Jas were experimenting.” Monty mumbles, his fingers toying with a loose thread on the corner of the pillow. “Tastes alright, though.”

“Monty, this smells fucking _toxic_ ,” Octavia says bluntly, taking another whiff. She makes a mental note to punch Jasper in the face when she next sees him. “God. How are you even still conscious?”

“I’m thinking about cats and how I’m going to die alone.” Monty says, as if it’s an explanation.

Octavia rolls her eyes skyward, a sigh slipping from her mouth. “Jesus Christ,” she mutters, leaning away from Monty to put the mug down on the floor – well out of his reach. “You’re gonna hate yourself in the morning.”

“Does’n matter,” Monty scowls, kicking his legs out and flopping sideways, burying his face in the quilt. “Does. Not. Matter”

‘Oh, fuck _me_ ,’ Octavia mouths to the ceiling, already feeling a romance-related headache coming on. Out loud she asks Monty what on earth his problem of the evening is.

“Nathan Miller is never going to notice me. Not ever.”

“Uh-huh?”

“I’m being serious!” Monty whines, raising his head and staring at Octavia pitifully. “I’m always gon’ be _your_ friend. His best friend’s li’l sister’s bff. An’ that’s it.” He drops his head back down. “What should I name my first cat? I’m thinking Jethro.”

Octavia sighs again, laying herself out next to her friend and reaching out her hand to poke him in the forehead.

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am not.”

“Are too,”

“Am _not_ ,”

“You _so_ are,”

“Are you going to help me with the _inevitability_ of me dying an aged spinster, or are you going t’ laugh at me?” He mangles his words, half of them lost in the pillow pressed against his face.

“I’m quite content laughing at you, to be perfectly honest.” Octavia replies blithely.

Monty groans into his pillow, and Octavia moves her hand from his forehead to his hair, pushing it away from her friend’s face and behind his ear. She smiles fondly and bemusedly.

“Nathan Miller is an idiot. That’s a tried and tested theory.”

“But he’s a _cute_ idiot.” Monty protests weakly, blinking at Octavia. _So he’s a bit of a Fixer-upper_ , trolls chime in the background, _so he’s got a few flaws._ Octavia scoffs and jabs the ‘off’ button on the remote. To Monty she smiles again, patting his cheek.

“And there’s thousands more like him in the world.”

“But he’s _Miller_ ,”

“Yeah, I know that.”

“Miller, Octavia. _Nathan Miller_.” Monty seems uncaring about the fact that he sounds like a small child before bedtime.

Octavia huffs. “But what about that cute boy that sat next to you in the seminar on Monday?”

Monty rolls his eyes and pouts. “That boy was the straightest person I’ve ever ever met. Like, he put _rulers_ to shame.”

“Sad times,” Octavia says immediately and reflexively. She curses herself out in her head then thinks again, “What about…uh, the barista!”

“He has a boyfriend.” Comes the sullen reply.

“What about the _other_ barista? The one who works Sundays?”

“M’pretty sure he’s not queer,”

“Have you asked him?”

Monty scoffs.

“Okay,” Octavia tries again. “What about… that tennis guy? He asked for your number!”

“He was a douchebag, and he plays _tennis_.” Monty says, as if playing tennis is the greatest sin a person can commit. Octavia wracks her brain, scrambling to think of any of the guys who Monty’s showed interest, or vice-versa.

“The cardigan-boy from the library? Didn’t he offer to lend you his card when you had too many lates?”

“He doesn’t have a beard.” Monty grumbles.

“Since _when_ have beards been your th- oh.” Octavia cuts herself off, suddenly remembering the dark hair that now adorned Miller’ jaw and cheeks. “Oh my god.” She whispers, closing her eyes. Monty was a goner.

“Yeah,” Monty sighs sadly.

“So what you’re basically saying is that Nathan Miller is your one and only?” Octavia asks, defeated.

“Yeah,”

“For fucks sake, Monty.” She breathes.

“Yeah,”

Octavia rolls onto her back. She’s quiet for a few moments. “We’re gonna have to do some serious planning. Like, military operation sort of stuff. Maybe I’ll get Bell in on it. Even Murphy; he’d enjoy fiddling with people’s lives, I’ll bet.” She muses.

Monty shakes his head, pressing his face into the quilt and moaning, “I’m going to die _alone_.”

**Author's Note:**

> there'll probs be another chapter of this at some point. currently i'm just awful at writing, so it may take a while lmao


End file.
